Psychobabble
by anathemawrites
Summary: Wincest. AU. He doesn't know when it starts. Ruby could probably tell him, but she doesn't give things like that up easily. It's fun for her unless it threatens him. He only knows is that the gap between holding Dean's dead body and burial, things shift.
1. one

**Psychobabble**_  
Creeno_

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Sanity is basically an act. Insanity, is dropping the act.

- Nana Lee

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He doesn't know when it starts. Ruby could probably tell him, but she doesn't give things like that up easily. It's fun for her unless it threatens him.

He only knows is that the gap between holding Dean's dead body and burial, things shift.

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_"Sammy?"_

_He jerks awake and not to Asia. Instead, it's a clean bedroom, one with pictures on the wall and a soft bed underneath him. It's his, for sure, because he can feel where it's molded around him. _

_"Dean?" his voice is thick and scared. This doesn't make sense, Dean's supposed to be—_

_Then he sees Dean's worried eyes on him and feels, actually _feels_ his hands on his face._

_"Hey, Sammy," Dean smiles and it's not so worn, not so tired. At the same time, though, there's…relief. "You've been sick for awhile. Glad to see you've finally snapped out of it."_

_Dean's lips ghost over his and Sam's too weak to fight it. Somewhere, he knows this isn't right, that this shouldn't be happening, but it's something he knows he can't give up._

_Dean draws back, and Sam moves his head up, tries to follow him, but Dean pushes him back. "Nuh-uh, Princess. Your breath smells like horseshit."_

_"Does not," Sam croaks as Dean moves away. His eyes feel heavy as he watches Dean go into the doorway into what looks like a bathroom, and he feels his throat tighten. _

(why?)

_He feels himself get heavier, drowsier. Dean reappears, hand on his forehead._

_"Hey, Sammy," Dean's eyes look bright, and his hand feels cold, "Sammy, hey—"_

"—Sam." Bobby's voice replaces Dean's. "Sam, we gotta go."

Oh. Right.

Sam wearily sits up, scrubbing his face. Doesn't even know how he got here, but he knows by the cold feel in his heart, he won't wake up beside Dean ever again.

His hand brushes over Dean's cold, bloody face as Bobby watches from the doorway, as if he's seen this before.

"I'm ready," he says and he knows he's lying.

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_Review!_


	2. two

**Psychobabble  
**_Creeno_

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Thanks for the alerts!

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_"Hey, Sammy," Dean looks up with a smile. The kitchen is clean, and the window is up. Dean's only dressed in a pair of jeans, thoroughly sweaty and dirty in the bright summer light. Laughter wafts up and through the window and a boy darts across the green backyard, dressed in a black AC/DC t-shirt, being chased by a boy with curly hair and girl with dirty jeans._

_Sam leans on the kitchen door jamb as Dean licks the peanut butter off the spoon. "Mowing the lawn?" His face wrinkles up as Dean laughs. "Dude, you are so domesticated. You gonna get an apron and cook for me too?"_

_"Nah, frills look best on you, Sammy," Dean rolls his eyes and slaps the peanut butter bread ontop of the cucumbers and bananas. "You're the wife in this marriage."_

_"If marriage is a constitution of two male brothers living and having sex in near broad daylight and bickering over groceries," Sam scoops up his sandwich, "Then, yes, we are in a marriage."_

_Dean laughs, and Sam's smirk widens into a smile. "A perfect one."_

Sam sees Dean's smile instead of the blank, slack look on his face as digs the hole in the forest. He pants hard and harsh, tears mixed with it as he drives the shovel deeper and deeper. Bobby is back at the hotel, thinks Sam's sleeping. Or, maybe he doesn't.

Sam doesn't really care.

Eventually, when the moon's at its zenith, he abandons the shovel.

Instead, he scoops out the earth with his hands. Coughs, chokes on tears and screams as he digs deeper and deeper, as if hell's right beneath his fingertips and he can reach down and Dean will be waiting with that beautiful smile on his lips.

In the morning, Bobby wakes up to find a grimy tear stained Sam at his doorway.

"We need to go," Sam says hollowly.

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_Review! They make me happy!_


	3. three

**Psychobabble  
**_Creeno_

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Sam doesn't sleep after the burial.

Can't(won't) connect the cold body with Dean.

He stays up all night and sits in the car, shoving tape after tape after tape into the Impala. He's burning precious gas, gas he can't afford or siphon, but he can't care. It's not his car. Will never _be_ his car.

"You sleep boy?"

"No," Sam replies, not bothering to lie. He's been playing Minesweeper for five hours, eight minutes, thirty-three seconds. Hasn't slept in a day, maybe two. He just can't seem to turn himself off and slip away.

Afraid he might...miss something.

He knows Bobby watches as he goes downstairs, trudges into the cold. He knows Bobby is watching as he heads past the Impala and down the road. But after that, Bobby won't be able to see, unless he's God.

Sam's feet do the walking for him, like they did back when Jess died, back when Dean was dying, back when Dad had died. The rest of him is disconnected from his body, in just a haze of barely felt emotion and at times, just the barest hint of sensation.

His eyes seem to go from a blur to sharp, near painful refocus on the crudely made cross that signified Dean's grave.

"I won't leave you here," he says, voice tight.

"I promise."

He sits, lies down on the cold turf. Curls up and puts his ear against the blades of grass and listens.

Listens for a heartbeat that isn't there.

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End file.
